


Greg Knows

by the_great_escape1998



Series: Mystrade [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Romance, bad work trip, cuddly, major fluff, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_great_escape1998/pseuds/the_great_escape1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has a shit trip to Tokyo and Greg makes him feel better. Fluff ensues....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greg Knows

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this is not intellectually stimulating but I had a bad trip to Tokyo and I wish someone had done this for me. Writing this helped me imagine. Maybe I should start a fluffy Mystrade series for bad days.

Mycroft had a shit day. This was not just one of those long, boring days your average office worker would describe as shit. No, this was beyond that. He stumbled into the flat after his trip to Tokyo in a daze, everything had gone wrong. It had rained and he’d soaked the only suit he had with him, all the way through (it had been an emergency trip and he hadn’t gotten a chance to pack). He had been forced to stay at a capsule hotel because everything even slightly appropriate had been booked and he couldn’t reach the Prime Minister or Anthea or the British Embassy or anyone other than the very important minister who was too drunk to tell him where his apartment was in anything other than the old Kyoto dialect of Japanese. A language that even polyglotte Mycroft couldn’t understand. 

The flat he walked into was the picture of calm and domesticity. Greg stood at the microwave, struggling with the world’s most necessary decision, how long to cook the leftovers. Mycroft’s arms snaked around his waist. “Hey sexy,” Greg’s voice wasn’t laced with anything it was just a greeting of practiced lovers. Mycroft’s voice box emitted a jumble of sounds that was obviously meant to be “Good evening Gregory.” This was the usual banter, this was homey, lovey and maybe even slightly nauseating. Greg spun around in Mycroft’s arms and immediately felt it, the strain. He knew Mycroft far too well. He knew what this face, this posture, this shift in his eyes meant. With Mycroft, Greg was possibly better at deduction then the master himself. “Oh poor baby” it wasn’t condescending, not even for a second.

Before he could even think he found himself being dragged to their bedroom. It was dragging not because it was forceful but simply because Mycroft couldn’t stand. He was yanked out of his clothes, not the least bit sexually and tossed into his silky pajamas. He then found himself in the bed, his head on Greg’s chest, the covers up to his chin, his boyfriend’s hand in his hair. They laid there in silence, Greg kissing his head every couple of seconds, running hands through hair, down his back, massaging shoulders. They do this for an eternity, it could be seconds, hours, days, neither man cares. Mycroft finally has the energy to move and he shifts himself higher so that he is face to face with this perfect man. “Thank you,” it is so silent, almost inaudible but Greg hears and knows and kisses him straight on the mouth. It is all that needs to be said and they fall asleep just like that in each other’s arms.


End file.
